by J G Lewis
Though she’d been tempted to dress as a man, Ela didn’t do that. Perhaps the scandal from the one time she’d attempted it weighed too heavily on her. Instead she wore a simple dark blue tunic with no ornamentation and her hair tied back with no barbette or veil. She wore a short, dark cloak with a small hood that covered her hair and much of her face, and soft leather boots that made no sound. To climb the ladder she could tuck the hem of her skirt into the leather belt around her waist, which also held her knife.
Bill and the guards also dressed in plain, dark clothing bought at the market that afternoon. The moon shone bright enough for them to find their way along the streets. The guards carried the ladders, each taller than a man. Ela hoped that, lashed together, they’d be tall enough to reach the high window. If not, there was another high opening on the river side of the building to attempt.
The streets of London were never empty—or quiet. The raucous singsong of a drunk, the too-loud laughter of a woman of the night, the sudden splash of slops thrown from a high window—each quickened Ela’s pulse as they hurried toward the dark river. The foul smells of the city seemed stronger at night and hung dismally in the air without the wind of her beloved castle mound to disperse them or the lush forest at Gomeldon to absorb them.
They passed few people, and those made a point of shrinking into the shadows as they approached. Four tall, dark-dressed, purposeful figures in the night did not inspire friendly overtures. Although she’d told him to hide it, Ela could see the tip of Bill’s long sword hanging beneath the hem of his cloak.
She smelled the river before she could see it, then it shone at the end of the alley before them. The warehouse rose up to their left, and she could make out the opening of the window about twenty feet up in the air.
One of the guards had bought rope to lash the ladders together, and the two men set to work on it.
“I can go up first,” said Bill, in her ear.
“You’re injured. I’ll be fine. I’m the lightest.” The plan was for her—once inside—to find her way down to the front door to let them in and to help the children out. One of the guards had brought something that looked like iron tongs, which could supposedly break even thick chain, and a bar to use for leverage if they needed to pry iron rings from the wooden walls.
The ladders reached handily to the window. A little too far, in fact. They propped the ladder against the wall, and Bill and one guard held it fast as they tried to persuade Ela they would be better suited to the climb. She shushed them quietly, tucked the front hem of her skirt into her belt and started up the ladder.
The slender rungs gave her pause, but they held her weight and her confidence grew as she climbed higher. Don’t look down. She sensed the river to her right—a malodorous silver ribbon—and the men watching her intently from below, but she kept her focus on the window.
The ladder sagged toward the wooden wall of the building as she climbed higher. She reassured herself that two men held it steady at the bottom. She’d inspected its construction herself and knew it was sturdy.
At last she reached the window. But with the ladder being a span too tall, it didn’t take her right to the sill, but past it. She’d have to take a sidestep off the ladder and into the unglazed window. It would be a leap of faith.
In the absence of a shutter, a piece of tattered cloth or leather hung inside the window and obscured her view. What if she heaved herself from the ladder and through the window, only to find it was barred or somehow blocked from the inside? She wasn’t sure she’d be able to regain purchase on the tall, flimsy ladder.
Ela climbed until her foot was level with the bottom of the window opening. Her hand rested on the next-to-highest rung of the ladder.
Don’t look down.
Her heart hammered for a second. Should she reach with her hand first or her foot? She found herself clinging to the staves of the ladder, fearful of the unknown.
This is better than riding into a rain of arrows. She’d likely faced more danger with each childbirth.
Keeping both hands firmly on the ladder, she stuck her left foot out toward the sill, which was only the distance of her foot away. Once the ball of her foot gained purchase on the sill, she took her left hand off the ladder and reached for the edge of the opening.
The ladder shuddered as her weight shifted, and she suppressed a shriek that rose in her throat. This is it. She’d have to hurl herself. There was no graceful way to manage the weight transfer from the bowing limbs of the ladder to the sturdier opening of the window.
What if the wood is rotten? It didn’t feel rotten. It felt sturdy, and her toes poked the flap of fabric and hadn’t hit anything hard. What if there’s no floor on the other side, and I fly in through the window, then plunge to my death?
She intended to hang onto the window frame until she could gauge what lay on the other side. The window was small enough that she’d have to fold herself in half to get through it. This would give her less control, but she had no choice.
Hail Mary, full of grace—Ela heaved herself from the ladder and toward the window opening. The small distance felt like a great chasm as her right hand flew toward her left and her right foot joined her left on the sill. The action pushed the ladder away and she heard it scrape against the wall as her fingers grasped the wood window frame and she heaved her weight into the opening.
Chapter 21
Ela tried to halt herself on the sill, but the thrust of movement propelled her in through the window. She’d crunched up small enough to fit through the opening, and her folded legs wouldn’t hold her steady on the sill.
Her left hand flew off the sill and she reached up to grab the curtain, which tore in her hand and fluttered down. Ela lost her footing on the sill and plunged forward into the dark opening, a scream rising in her throat.
But instead of her own scream, someone else’s scream rose in the air as Ela came down hard on her shoulder on a wood floor.
She sprang to her feet, peering into the darkness. “Who’s there?” She hoped it was lost children, not a band of brigands whose midst she’d fallen into.
No one replied. She heard some fumbling and scuffling in the dark. “Is Elsie Brice here?”
No answer.
“I come from Salisbury to bring her home to her family.”
More silence, punctuated by shuffling and sniffing.
“Are you children in here?”
“Yes,” said a boy’s voice.
“Were you stolen from your parents?”
“Yes,” said the same voice. “Some of us were.”
Ela’s heart swelled. She’d found the stolen children. But was she too late to bring Elsie back to her family? “Was Elsie Brice with you?”
“I’m here,” said a very small voice.
“Praise be to God!” exclaimed Ela too loudly. “Your family will be overjoyed to see you again.”
“They won’t.” said the same small voice. “My uncle sold me for a pound of silver. So he won’t be happy to see me again.” Her voice cracked.
Ela froze. “It’s against the law to sell a child,” she said. Was it? She wasn’t even entirely sure. Money and children exchanged hands for apprenticeships and for labor, but surely this was different? “Regardless, we’ll get you out of here now. How are you secured?” Her eyes still battled the darkness, and she couldn’t see even the outline of a child.
“We’re not tied up, but there’s no way down,” said a boy. “We’re on the third floor of this warehouse and they remove the ladder after they leave us food.”
She needed to bring the ladders in here. But how, if she couldn’t get down to open the door? “Where is the opening for the ladder?” Perhaps she could lower herself down to the next floor.
“Over here,” said a girl.
“All right. You stay right there and warn me when I’m close, so I won’t fall into it.” She felt her way along the floor. It smelled of new wood but was dusty and dirty. The room also reeked of filth, probably fr
om slop buckets somewhere.
“You’re close,” said the girl. “It’s a square hole in the floor.”
Ela could already feel splinters from the floor—and likely the window frame, too—in her fingertips and the palms of her hands. Hilda would have quite a time removing them once she was home safe—God willing.
The opening had raw cut edges of new wood. Ela peered down at the level below, which was even darker. She couldn’t see where the next level began.
Looking up, she could at least make out the moonlit window opening she’d come through. She stood and walked back there, reassured at least that there was solid floor in between here and there. She stuck her head out the window. The men stared up at her from the street below, still holding the ladder.
“I need the ladder,” she whispered as loudly as she could. They edged it over to the window opening, then pulled the base away far enough that the top of the ladder lowered and poked in through the window opening.
Ela grabbed hold of the top rungs and pulled it.
But it was too heavy and at the wrong angle and soon hit the ceiling. She probably needed only the top part of the ladder. “Is there a rope in here?” If she could lower the ladder, have the men cut off the top section, then pull it back up again—
“No. There’s nothing in here. They don’t want us to escape,” said a girl.
“Who’s the strongest among you? And who the tallest?” Children were agile. Perhaps between herself and them they could lower someone to open the door below.
“I’m the tallest,” said a boy’s voice, with the just-broken crack of a boy turning into a man. “And likely the strongest, too.”
“If I hold your arms, do you think you can lower yourself to the floor below?”
“It’ll be a jump, but I can do it.”
Ela and the boy made their way gingerly toward the opening. Her eyes had adjusted enough to make out the shapes of the children—there were so many of them, eyes glittering in the blackness—and she could also see the large dark square hole in the floor where goods might be hoisted up here for storage.
Ela eased her way the edge and coaxed him to climb over. He hesitated, then lowered himself into the hole, hanging onto the edge by his hands. Ela took his wrists. She peered into the hole. What if there was another opening right under his feet and he’d fall all the way through to the ground floor, maybe breaking his neck in the process?
“Can you see the floor below you?” She asked.
“I can see the hole, so I must jump to the side of it.”
“If I hold your wrists and lower you down, can you make it?”
“I think so.”
Ela lay flat on the floor with her arms extended into the hole. “Children, two of you hold on to my feet.” She felt small strong hands on her ankles. “What’s your name?” she asked of the boy in the hole.
“Rafe, ma’am.”
“Well, Rafe, I’m going to hold your wrists very tight, so when you let go of the edge we’ll lower you down little lower. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
She gripped with all her might as he let go of the edge and his weight fell into her hands. He was a slight boy but still weighed several stones and his weight wrenched at her shoulders.
“Can you swing yourself to make sure you land on the floor?”
He stuck his legs out and generated some momentum, while Ela gritted her teeth, gripped with all her might, and tried to ignore the floor biting into her chest.
“When I say ‘three,’ let go,” said the boy. Ela was relieved that this boy could count.
“I will.”
He was swinging himself in increasing arcs, challenging her ability to hold him. “One, two, three!” She let go and held her breath as he plunged into the darkness. She heard a thud as he hit the wood floor.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes,” he gasped. He sounded winded.
“Can you peer down through the next hole to the floor below?”
“Yes.” She could now just make him out, kneeling at the edge of the second hole. “I can see the ground.”
She couldn’t imagine how he could see anything in this lightless pit. It seemed the only open window was the one she’d come through. Maybe there were enough cracks in the walls to let some scant moonlight in down there.
“Can you jump down to it without help and open the door from the inside? My friends are there to help you all to safety.” Ela wondered if she could manage to lower herself down after him. It was a long jump and—as a forty-year-old mother of eight—she wasn’t as agile as a lithe twelve-year-old.
“I think so.”
Ela realized the children behind her still held her ankles. She whispered that they could let go—she didn’t want to distract the boy below—and eased herself creakily back onto her knees so she could peer down after him.
She watched the boy climb gingerly over the edge of the hole and lower himself into it, as he’d done before. This time he didn’t swing back and forth, but simply dropped straight down. She didn’t hear him land.
“Rafe? Can you hear me?” He didn’t answer. Ela couldn’t see him, but an image of his broken body—sprawled awkwardly on the packed dirt below—flew into her mind. One of the children behind her gasped. Another, more distant, began to cry. “Rafe.”
“I’m fine,” said a squeaky voice below. “Just winded. It’s a big drop.”
“Thanks be to God,” breathed Ela. “Can you see the door to unlock it?”
“I can see it. It has bands of iron across it”
“Is there a latch?” Ela was used to doors being opened and closed for her by servants. She didn’t have much opportunity to examine their workings.
“It’s not latched on this side.” She heard him rattling the door. “I think it’s locked from the outside and there’s no key.”
They’d hardly have a warehouse that only locked from the inside, but she hoped that the interior of the door would have a way to unlock the door. “Hold on. Stay right there.” She rose to her feet and hurried back to the window. Down on the street, Bill and the two guards stared up at her.
“Can you break the door down?” she said, as loud as she dared. “It won’t open from the inside.” Just because Sheriff le Duc had said it couldn’t be done, didn’t mean he was right.
Bill murmured some commands to the men, and they immediately set to the door. Ela prayed that they could cut through the wood around the lock or pry the whole door off its hinges. Naturally a warehouse would have sturdy doors like a castle to protect the precious cargo stored inside it from the city’s thieves, which included skilled lockpicks and villains of all stripes.
She hurried back to the hole. “Rafe, they’re trying to break the door down from the outside. See that you’re out of the way when it falls, and tell them anything you can to help them.”
She strained to hear a muttered exchange between Rafe and the men outside. They made thumping and sawing sounds enough to wake the dead. She prayed they’d get the door open in time to rescue the children.
Odd that their captors had left them unguarded, but this warehouse was a fortress indeed. There was no way to escape unaided. “How long have you been here?” she asked of the children.
Their answers varied. Some had been there since they’d been moved from the other building, others had arrived only a few days earlier.
“Who feeds you?”
“Usually the monk. There was another man with scary eyes, but he doesn’t come any more.” Vicus Morhees, probably.
“Does anyone else come here?”
“Yes. People come to pinch us and prod us like we’re fruit in the market. Sometimes they buy a child and leave with them.”
“Do you know who any of these people are?”
None of them did. “We’re kept in the dark. We only see them by candlelight.”
“So you wouldn’t recognize any of them?”
“I’d recognize the monk,” protested one boy. “He’s t
hat short. And he shuffles along in his long robe.”
“It’s just the one monk, the short one, or are there others?”
“There are others,” said a girl. Ela couldn’t see her in the dark, but she could tell she was as young as Edyth Wheaton. “I’ve been here the longest. Sometimes they take us places and dress us up. Then they bring us back here.”
“Do men—do anything to you?”
None of them answered.
Ela strained her ears to listen to the sounds below. There was a fair amount of thumping and scraping coming from outside the door as the men worked to open it. It was only a matter of time before someone out on the streets would notice what was going on, and then what would happen? Would they alert the sheriff?
She wasn’t sure how the sheriff would react to her breaking and entering into the king’s warehouse. She’d proved that children were being held against their will. Surely that would be enough to justify her actions in any court of law?
“I hope to get you all back to your parents as soon as I can.” She wanted to reassure herself as much as them.
“I don’t have parents,” said Elsie Brice. “They’re both dead.” Did Elsie know the role Ela had played in her becoming an orphan? Her heart clenched at the injustice that the Brice children must suffer.
“Me either,” said a small boy. “My dad was killed by a bull and my mam died of the fever.”
“So how did you come to be here?” He was close enough for Ela to reach out and take his hand. He snatched it back. Which reminded her that he had no reason to trust a strange adult. Elsie’s words came back to her. “Did someone sell you?”
She could see him shaking his head in the dark. “I was begging in the town, and two men came along and threw me into a bag and put me on a cart.”
“What town?”
“Canterbury,” said the boy.
Ela frowned. “Where are the rest of you from?”
Their muttered answers confused her. They came from a variety of places, from small villages to large cathedral towns. Wondering how they all got here distracted her momentarily from the commotion below, which grew louder.